Chapter 1 - The Master of the House
I sat in my car for a long time after the plane disappeared into the clouds,
listening to the sound of my own breathing,
which felt like the ticking of a time bomb.
The Manhattan skyline shimmered in the distance,
a cold graveyard of glass and steel,
but all I could see was the image of David’s hand on that girl’s waist.
The "Tokyo" deployment was a lie,
a carefully constructed fiction designed to keep me shackled to his parents,
while he spent my inheritance on diamonds and sunblock.
I put the car in gear and drove back toward our apartment,
my hands steady on the steering wheel,
even though my heart was a churning cauldron of black ice.
When I opened the front door,
the smell of stale cabbage and cheap perfume hit me like a physical blow.
Teresa was already in the living room,
rearranging my antique porcelain collection with a look of smug satisfaction.
"You're late,
Eleanor,"
she barked,
not even bothering to look up from the shelf.
"I want tea,
and Harold needs his pillows fluffed in the master bedroom."
I felt a jolt of electricity go through me at the mention of my bedroom.
"The master bedroom?"
I asked,
my voice a low,
dangerous hum.
"Of course,"
Teresa snapped,
turning to face me with her hands on her hips.
"David said we should be comfortable while he’s away serving the country."
"He said you wouldn't mind sleeping in the guest room,"
"since you’re just one person now."
I looked at her,
really looked at her,
and saw the parasitic greed that had defined their lives for decades.
They had lived off David’s "success" for years,
never knowing that David’s success was entirely funded by my father’s trust.
"Get out of my bedroom,
Teresa,"
I said,
each word a sharp,
frozen pebble.
She blinked,
her expression shifting from smugness to genuine shock.
"What did you just say to me?"
"I said get out,"
I repeated,
walking toward her until she was forced to step back.
"David is gone,"
"and the rules in this house have changed."
"You are guests here,"
"and guests do not dictate where the owner sleeps."
Harold shuffled into the room then,
wearing one of David’s expensive silk robes.
"What’s all this noise?"
he grumbled,
looking at me with his watery,
entitled eyes.
"Eleanor is being hysterical,
Harold!"
Teresa wailed,
instantly summoning her crocodile tears.
"She’s disrespecting us the moment our son is over the ocean!"
"Now,
now,
Eleanor,"
Harold said,
trying to sound authoritative.
"David told us you might be emotional,"
"but you must remember your place in this family."
"My place?"
I laughed,
a sound that was devoid of any humor.
"My place is on the deed of this apartment,"
"which,
by the way,"
"is in my name only."
I walked past them and into the kitchen,
picking up my laptop from the marble island.
I logged into our joint investment portal,
the one David thought I never checked.
I saw the trail of breadcrumbs he had left behind.
Thousands of dollars spent at high-end lingerie shops,
florists,
and travel agencies.
He had been planning this "deployment" for six months.
I called my lawyer,
Robert,
while they stood in the doorway,
whispering to each other like conspirators.
"Robert,"
I said,
my eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window.
"I need the divorce papers ready by tomorrow morning."
"And I need an emergency eviction notice for two squatters."
Teresa let out a strangled gasp,
her face turning a sickly shade of gray.
"You wouldn't dare!"
"I would,"
I said,
closing the laptop with a definitive click.
"David thinks he’s in Hawaii with a mistress,"
"but he’s actually on a one-way trip to bankruptcy."
"And you two?"
"You have twenty-four hours to pack your bags,"
"or I’ll have the NYPD escort you to the curb."
"But David has the money!"
Harold shouted,
his bravado finally cracking.
"David has nothing,"
I corrected.
"He has a frozen credit card,"
"a canceled return ticket,"
"and a wife who is finally,
mercifully,
awake."
I walked into the master bedroom and threw Harold’s suitcase into the hallway.
May you like
The war had begun,
and I intended to win every single battle.
